My New Holiday Poem!

I hope this woman realizes that she was George's
second choice. That dress ain't got nothing on my
yoga pants with the sweat stain on the butt!

Hi there readers! I have been on hiatus for such a long time that some of you were probably wondering if I had actually realized my (former) dream of George Clooney becoming Mr. Audrey Broome, and if I had run away with old George to a private island somewhere. While, sadly, this is not what happened, and while I know George Clooney did get married, I still know in my heart that I was probably the only girl for him, but that, in the interest of wanting me to have time to, like, work, and do creative stuff like writing my blog, he let me go and released me from our romantic bond. And then he married that other lady.

Anyway, enough about that. I like to write rhyming poetry, which I am sure should never be critiqued by anyone who knows anything about writing poetry, because I think there would be so many red editing marks all over the page that I would think I was looking at a sign announcing changes in the terror alert level. While I have no idea how to properly punctuate or capitalize when writing poetry, I have improvised! If poor punctuation causes you to get the vapors, and lack of appropriate capitalization makes your gout flare up-well, please consider editing my poem for me and sending it back to me. I would love to have it properly formatted! While my egregious violations of conventions of punctuation and capitalization may offend you, I hope you can see past these transgressions and enjoy the gist of my poem. (Though, if you quibble over em dashes you may just want to forget it!) This poem is a holiday story from a teacher's perspective. So
, without further delay, here is the poem that I wrote in bed on my phone this morning at 3:45 AM!

The Raving (Lunatic)

Remember those famous Christmas lyrics: "It seems
so long since I could say, "Sister Suzy pushin' round
her Bissell?""

Once upon a Thursday dreary, while I

Pondered, weak and weary,

Over a precipitously large stack of

Standards, Common Core--

While I nodded, nearly napping,

Suddenly there came a tapping,

As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my classroom door.

"Tis some child come back," I muttered

"To get something he forgot before."

Only this and nothing more.

Ah, distinctly I remember

It was in the bleak November

And in the heart of each staff member

Was the need to feel her energy restore.

Eagerly I wished the morrow-

Would it end my pain and sorrow?

A feat like climbing Kilimanjaro-

To reach the day when classes were no more.

To reach that golden fabled day when all my classes were no more—

Thanksgiving break, make haste!--To thee I do implore!

And the sharpest, wheezing whistle

That emitted from the Bissell

That began after dismissal,

As the cleaners sucked detritus from the floor.

As the dirge of vacuum rumbled,

From my hand my room key tumbled,

I eyed the door and softly mumbled,

"Tis some student entreating entry at my classroom door—

Some forgetful student entreating entry at my classroom door.

He needs a book and nothing more."

My irritation grew quite quickly,

As for an hour I had fickly

Graded projects as I sickly

Coughed until my throat was sore.

"Hey, kid!" I called out weakly- 

"Come back tomorrow, not before.

You see, kid, I was just now grading

The papers I have been evading,

And my hacking cough's not fading

As you gently rap upon my classroom door.

Over my cough I scarcely heard you tap upon my classroom door-

I heard my cough and the vacuum-nothing more."

This was probably the closest
Edgar Allen Poe ever got to
celebrating Thanksgiving.

As the tapping wasn't stopping,

From my chair I came a hopping

The soles of my shoes made a popping

noise as I walked across the classroom floor-

As I walked right up to the closed door.

I turned the knob and pulled it open

While I was wishing and hoping

That I would find not a student loping

Loping outside my classroom door.

"Please be the wind," I muttered,

"Just the wind and nothing more."

This I muttered as I opened the door.

Down the hallway I was peering,

And I stood there, wondering, fearing,

Silently slinging curse words no teacher had ever slung before.

Just where was the pesky student

Who had thought it would be prudent

Rather than simply impudent

To return to class at half past four?

To return to my class at half past four?

I quickly closed the classroom door.

‘Twas nigh Thanksgiving break, but the day before.

And working on breaks I do abhor!

Back into my classroom, turning,

Irritation inside me burning

As I heard a tapping much louder than before.

"Surely that is just the vacuum,"

I said, standing just a foot back from the door.

I let my irritation settle as I calmed myself and counted to four.

Breathing gently, nothing more.

Feeling calm I flung the door open

Trying to adjust my coping

To deal with a student hoping

To get the book he left before.

The book he left so long before.

In front of me was a boy standing,

With his mother, quite demanding-

My irritation was expanding,

As I saw it was his mom, Lenore-

She was a force hard to ignore!

And Lenore, she pushed right past me,

Her lack of manners was quite ghastly,

Her son in tow but not as fast, he

Trailed her as she moved across the floor.

"Timmy forgot his book," she spouted,

"And I really strongly doubted,

Although Timmy begged and pouted,

That the test tomorrow was no more.

That the science test tomorrow was simply no more."

"There's still a test," I softly stated

"A test that has been long awaited,

Though I internally debated

If a project might be valued more-

Alternative assessment to be sure!

But on the day before vacation,

I, like teachers across the nation

Prefer traditional evaluation,

As it is much less a chore

So much less an awful chore--

The kids will work with no commotion

Like they've had a sleeping potion,

And, though, to my job I feel devotion,

Working when I'm off I do not adore.

I'd finish here, to myself I swore."

Lenore's response was raucous laughter,

Her face turned red from alabaster,

I thought it would be a disaster

That would ruin our rapport-

That would quite ruin our rapport.

But the fates were in my favor

As Lenore voiced with a waiver,

"Vacation time is there to savor,

To spend with family and friends galore—

With loving family and friends galore."

"Vacation time is not for working,

But rather, it is for shirking

As in the bed you lie there, lurking

Watching shows you've DVR'ed before

When you had time for work and nothing more.

Thanksgiving is a time for sharing,

For eating, talking, and soul bearing,

And certainly for only wearing

Pants that do not squeeze your core-

With an elastic waist and nothing more.

All other pants you must ignore!"

Suddenly my dull mood brightened,

How was this woman so enlightened?

And all my senses felt quite heightened

As I watched her sort Timmy's books out on the floor-

All Timmy's books were on the floor.

As I watched them I felt a gusting

As a typhoon wind came busting

Through the walls and windows dusting

All that was in its path and more

And I was sucked up off the floor.

As my senses faced upheaval,

I was pulled from the reprieval

Given by a parent in her retrieval

Of her child's book from the classroom floor-

The lovely lady named Lenore.

Only this and nothing more.

She understood my situation,

That teachers MUST have a vacation,

From their hard work and dedication,

So that they remain sane for a year more—

A week's vacation doth our sanity restore.

Sure, we don't work in the summer,

But we're paid less than a plumber,

Which, let's face it, is a bummer-

When we have college loans we can't ignore-

Expensive loans with interest that we simply can't ignore-

Which we may pay off, nevermore!

As the wind whipped me asunder,

Tossing me around in thunder,

And then, to my unending wonder,

I landed hard upon the floor-

With a resounding "thud" upon the floor-

The classroom around me, nevermore.

A blaring broke through my enchantment,

A beeping awful noise that went

Louder with a pitch in ascent

Like a siren breaking through my very core-

A sound I knew I'd heard before.

My eyes sprang open, staring, peering-

'Twas my alarm clock I was hearing,

A sound I always thought was shearing

Years off my life each time it I would ignore.

My alarm clock and nothing more.

No sign of Timmy and Lenore.

As realization dawned around me,

Circumstances keenly found me

Fallen from my bed, which did astound me,

As the clock read 5:44.

With the trepidation of the craven,

I peered at my wall, silently raving

As the calendar page was waving

Blown by the vent built in the floor-

Today's date read October 24-

It wasn't time for my vacation!

I got up with irritation,

And like teachers across the nation-

Got ready for the work that was in store.

My vacation, nevermore!

-Audrey V. Broome

November 2014

George Clooney image courtesy of http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/03051/clooney_3051211b.jpg
Bissell vaccum image courtesy of http://www.1stflash.com/files/Janitorial-Supplies/Bissell-Upright-Vacuums.jpg
Wild Turkey image courtesy of http://www.danmurphys.com.au/media/DM/Product/750x2000/83276_0_9999_v1_m56577569842369625.jpg